


A Change in the Data

by DigiKate813



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Exhaustion, Gen, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-Season/Series 04, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigiKate813/pseuds/DigiKate813
Summary: Set right after the events of "The Final Problem", Sherlock confronts the consequences of everything he faced. When John notices that Sherlock is sleeping much more and seems to be distracted by something he just won't talk about, he tries to figure out what's going on, and if he can help him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Took being a fan of this show for almost a decade, but I have finally delved into the realm of writing Sherlock fanfiction!

It felt almost surreal. Being in a cab in London. It was such a familiar setting that for moments during the ride, felt almost as if nothing had happened. But that was far from the case. So much had happened. Possibly more then any other adventure they’d had together. And that was really saying something at this point. John felt that sense of relief that came after the danger they faced during a case cooled down, and he was anxious to get home.

Sherlock hadn’t said anything since they left Musgrave. Waving off further questioning about the situation, but not leaving until he had been assured that both his siblings would be looked after. John couldn’t imagine what was going through his head. Sherlock’s mind was an unusual place to begin with, but now with everything Eurus did to him, everything’s he’s discovered, it all must be racing through him at a level of processing that John probably couldn’t even comprehend. But he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse for this particular situation.

There were a couple of times during the ride home where he was tempted to talk to his friend as he stared out the window; but neither of them were particularly good at this sort of thing, and perhaps the back of a cab was not the best place for it. So they just sat in awkward, yet comfortable silence, until they reached their destination.

With Baker Street still being a burnt shell of it’s former self, that destination would be John’s home. Exiting the cab and paying the fare, John walked up to the front door with Sherlock following. When they entered, they heard some familiar footsteps coming down to the ground floor, and were greeted by Mrs Hudson, with Rosie in her arms.

“Oh thank goodness!” Mrs Hudson exclaimed at seeing them return. “I hope you settled all that nasty business. You were gone long enough. We were worried sick.” she added speaking both for her and Rosie. Handing the infant to her father’s waiting arms.

“Hello sweetheart.” John said as he held his daughter close. For a while during this whole ordeal, he thought he might never see her again. That wave of relief washing over again as she cooed in his arms. “Thank you for looking after her Mrs Hudson. You are a lifesaver.” he replied to his former landlady as Sherlock removed his coat and scarf. Taking a seat on the couch.

“Oh think nothing of it dearie. It was my pleasure to have something to do after that mishap at the flat. Your brother will get quite the earful next time I see him.” Mrs Hudson glanced over John’s shoulder to address Sherlock. A comment which elicited a chuckle from John and the slightest smile from Sherlock.

“I wouldn’t be too harsh on him Mrs Hudson. After this latest case I solved for him; I’m sure he’ll help restore 221B to it’s proper glory as, compensation.” Sherlock remarked.

“Well it’s certainly the least he can do. Are you boys alright? You left so quickly after that disaster.”

“We’re fine Mrs. Hudson. The case is closed, it’s all sorted.” John answered softly.

“Well, that’s a relief. I certainly hope that’s the last bit of excitement for a while.” John wasn't betting on it but hopefully this would be the last somewhat traumatizing case for them. Maybe some typical murders for a while.

“I think you are in good hands now.” the landlady continued, sweetly addressing little Rosie “I’ll leave you to it then.” now bidding the doctor farewell. Walking past to grab her coat.

“Wait” John intervened, careful not to drop his daughter as he turned around to face her. “You can’t go back to the flats in the shape they’re in.”

“Oh don’t you worry about me. I’m going to spend some time with my sister. I’ll be by to see to the clean up. You just take it easy alright?” Mrs Hudson requested warmly of her former tenant. John nodded. As she opened the door to take her leave, she turned again to John “There’s a fresh pot on the stove. I think you boys could use a nice cuppa.”

“Mrs Hudson, you are truly indispensable.” John complimented to her latest of many sweet gestures. She gave him and Rosie one last warm smile before departing. John’s entire frame slumped slightly as the door shut. Not even realizing he was attempting to look less tired then he was. Taking a moment to adjust his grip on Rosie, smiling at her. “As always, she’s knows just what we need. I could certainly use some tea. Sherlock how about-?”

John was about to ask his friend if he wanted a cup too. Only to discover he had fallen asleep. Legs still planted on the floor but the rest of his body appearing to almost struggle to keep upright. Like he would fall on his side any second. Either he was so bored from the small talk between the two of them, or recent events had finally taken their toll.

Either way, John stared briefly at this rare vulnerable image of the great detective, and gently placed his daughter down on the nearby chair for a moment. Long enough to help his friend into a more comfortable position. He never even stirred as John properly let him lay down and placed his legs on the sofa cushions; his legs bending slightly due to his height overpowering the length of the couch. But this position would be much more acceptable then just leaving him in the one he was in.

Interrupting the silence that almost echoed in the Watson household was Rosie fussing slightly. John kneeled down to comfort her where she sat. She calmed almost instantly, giving her father such an innocent smile earned just by his presence, and the only sound that could now be heard was the even breathing of Sherlock's deep sleep.

As he picked his daughter up again and went to see about that warm cup of tea, John found himself once again staring at his friend who had endured so much.

“Rest easy soldier.”

* * *

John stepped downstairs that morning to start with breakfast, but when he came down, he saw an unusual sight. Sherlock was still asleep on his couch. He had wandered down here a couple of times during the night to tend to Rosie, and made sure to be quiet so as not to disturb his exhausted friend, but even with everything that happened the last few days, surely he’d be rested by now.

This would already be unusual for Sherlock, who didn’t seem to need as much sleep as “normal” people did. Usually able to run on adrenaline and intrigue. However, even for a regular person who’s mind didn’t race like an engine, he should have gotten more then his needed sleep a couple of hours ago. But there was no sign that Sherlock had moved from that spot aside from an arm and a leg now dangling off the side of the couch. Something was wrong.

John stepped over to the unconscious detective. Sitting on the adjacent table, he checked his friends vitals and looked for any sign that he might have been hurt or gotten sick, It wasn’t unlikely after what they went through at Sherrinford. But everything seemed okay. Aside from the fact that Sherlock barely stirred during this examination, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

John considered trying to wake him up, and even nudged his shoulder a couple of times while he was looking him over to get his cooperation, but there he still laid. Maybe he really was just that exhausted. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. So since he couldn’t find anything wrong with him otherwise, he decided to leave him be for now. He was going to take a couple of days off from the clinic anyway, so if anything did happen to Sherlock, he would be around to make sure it didn’t escalate.

John returned to his original plan of starting the day properly, though admittedly with some slight hesitation as he left Sherlock’s still unmoving side.

This was weird. Even for Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

That afternoon, John heard an unexpected ring of his doorbell. Walking over swiftly to answer it, he opened the door to find Molly Hooper.

“Molly. Hi.” John greeted somewhat flustered by her visit. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you know, I just, wanted to see how you and little Rosie were doing. That is, it’s been a little while.” Molly replied, and John understood on some level. After how much she had helped with looking after Rosie when he lost Mary, not hearing from him for even a few days could feel peculiar.

“Oh. thanks. We’re doing pretty well considering, everything.”

“Good. That’s good.” Molly responded somewhat timidly. Appearing to not quite know what to do with herself after getting such a quick and straightforward answer to her only reason for being there.

“Would you, like to come in for a bit? I just put the kettle on.” John offered.

After what appeared to be a second of hesitation, she cheerfully answered “Okay. Thanks.”

“Please it’s the least I could do. You’ve been so good with Rosie, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” John added as he stepped aside to let her in.

“Oh don’t worry about it. She’s so sweet. Any chance I could see her?”

“Sorry. I just put her down for a nap. Maybe I’ll let you peek in before you go.”

“Sounds like a plan.” They both started chuckling as they walked into the living room. But Molly’s newly raised spirit quickly deflated when she saw who else was in the house. Still dead to the world on John’s couch, but now turned on his side, his back facing the doctors in the room. But even without being able to see his face, Molly could tell who it was.

“What is he doing here?” Molly asked in probably the most bitter tone someone as sweet as Molly was capable of, pointing at the lump of a consulting detective on his sofa.

John could kick himself for not thinking about how seeing Sherlock right now would make Molly feel. That phone call Eurus forced him into was only a couple of days ago. “Molly I’m sure you’re still upset at him, and I don’t blame you but-” 

“Maybe I should go after all.” Molly suggested interrupting John as she started to make her way back to the door.

“No no no, Molly wait! Please.” John cried as he ran to stop her.

Molly seemed to at least stop attempting to leave. Waiting to hear why John was insisting she doesn’t. Maybe this wasn’t his place to interfere, but at this point he was getting tired of the bitter feelings and betrayal between his friends. Sherlock was out of commission at the moment, so he was going to straighten this out. 

“Look, I don’t blame you for being upset and angry at him, and you know I will be the first to admit when he is being a total ass. But I was on that, case with him. I know what was going on. So please, just let me explain.” John asked gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. “Five minutes.”

Molly still seemed skeptical, but ultimately walked towards John’s kitchen. After releasing a sigh of relief, John followed her, glancing at Sherlock as he walked by. He met Molly, arms crossed and with that patient yet demanding glare she seemed to have developed since Sherlock returned a couple of years ago. “Well?”

“Sherlock didn’t want to do make that call. It was for a case.”

“Yeah I know. He said. But that doesn’t mean he can make fun of my feelings like that.” Molly retorted to John’s explanation.

“I know that Molly. And he knew that.” John continued. Taking a deep breath to collect himself before he proceeded. “He thought your life was in danger.”

The accusing look on Molly’s face dropped for a moment at her friend's words. “What?”

“The, criminal we were trying to catch, they threatened to kill you if Sherlock didn’t get you to say, what he made you say. We found out later it was a bluff but we didn’t know that at the time. Sherlock was only willing to hurt your feeling to save you. But Molly, it didn’t just hurt you when he did that.” John admitted. He could tell Molly was processing everything he was saying, but she remained silent.

“This whole case we were just on? It was designed to specifically torture Sherlock! And believe me it was a horrifying experience. But with every trial he was put through, nothing got to him more then that phone call. It tore him apart inside. I know it did.” John took another moment to collect himself. Remembering his friend smashing that retched coffin to splints and practically collapsing to the ground, looking so defeated. “You don’t have to forgive him for it, but trust me Molly. He didn’t do that because he didn’t care.”

“I- I had no idea.” was all Molly said at first. She glanced over at the sleeping detective solemnly. What she was thinking John couldn’t quite decipher, and he was getting worried that he didn’t manage to convince her. But then a smile formed across her face, turning back to the doctor. “Thank you for telling me, John. I get the feeling he never would have.” 

John couldn’t help smiling himself at that. “I guess it was a pretty harrowing case if he just collapsed like that.” she commented.

“Yeah. Conked out just minutes after we got back here. He’s been like that for almost, 20 hours now.” John said as he checked his watch to confirm that.

“Really? Are you sure he’s not sick or something?”

“He seems fine as far as I can tell. Could be something internal that I can’t diagnose I suppose, but he’s still somewhat responsive. Just not enough to get up. Believe me I’ve tried.” John explains, remembering when he’d tried to rouse Sherlock just a couple of hours ago, and only got a grunt and a twist in position as a response.

“Well, does he usually sleep this much?” Molly asked

“Sherlock?! Are you kidding? You know him. He runs very long on very little. If he’s on a case you couldn’t get him to stop for anything, and when he’s not he’s too busy being bored and agitated to be tired. I wasn’t even positive he ever slept when I first moved in with him.”

“When he does, is he generally this, unresponsive?”

John ponders Molly’s question. Going through the memories of his time as Sherlock’s flatmate and if any of the patterns he’d picked up on during that time could help explain this phenomenon. “In my experience, only right after big cases. He’d be so focused on them he’d barely sleep a wink or swallow a morsel. Just whatever he needed to keep his ‘transport’ going. Until he practically collapsed the second the case was wrapped up.” John answered, recollecting many times the detective staggered up the stairs once the adrenaline had worn off.

“So, you said you guys just got back from a difficult case. Where Sherlock was practically tortured. That seems to fall in line with his past behavior.” Molly tries to rationalize.

“That’s what I thought too, but he’s never been out this long.” John starts to counter, but he suddenly remembers something. “Except…”

“Except?” Molly pushes.

“The only other time I’ve seen him this exhausted was after our first encounter with Moriarty.” John explained, Molly squirming at the mention of that awful, deceptive man. “I guess it’s not surprising. That string of cases lasted for days and they were all intense. When we managed to make it back home and it seemed like the dust had settled, Sherlock passed out on the couch and barely moved for over 24 hours.” As he told that story, John was realizing how similar it was to this peculiar situation he found himself in.

“Well, if this has happened before, and there were no other side effects to this state he’s in, then he’s probably okay.” Molly tried to assure, saying pretty much what John was thinking. “After all, it’s Sherlock. He always goes on the bit of the extreme end.” Molly added, making John chuckle slightly.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m willing to leave him be, but if he’s not up soon I might have to call Mycroft.”

“I don’t believe there’ll be a need for that.” Sherlock’s voice suddenly rang, causing both of the doctors to yelp in surprise. 

The consulting detective was suddenly standing behind them, in the doorway that lead from the living area to the kitchen. The signs of some sort of exhaustion still there, not the least of which being stretching his arm out to lean on the frame, but Sherlock tried to look as dominating and confident as he usually did. Buttoning up the jacket he had fallen asleep in. He was failing.

“I think my brother has his own problems at the moment. No need to disturb him for such a, non-issue.” Sherlock reassured, intentionally avoiding eye contact with Molly. “Excuse me.” Sherlock made his way past them and began rummaging through the cupboards, either not realizing he still had something of an audience staring at him or didn't care. Knowing Sherlock it could go either way.

Molly finally spoke up “Uh, actually, any chance I could get that cup to go?”

“You sure?” John asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got a late shift today, so I need to get going.”

“Okay, sure. Just a sec.” John answered, searching for a travel cup for Molly to use. While she waited, Molly couldn’t help looking over at Sherlock. His back still turned to her and head ducked slightly. His focus entirely dedicated to the package of biscuits he’d managed to find. Lightly munching on it’s contents.

Molly didn’t say anything. She didn’t think it was the time. But she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She couldn't imagine what he had just been through. Her thoughts were interrupted by John placing a warm travel cup in her line of vision.

“There you go.”

“Thanks so much” Molly replied graciously. “Take it easy. Call me if you need anything.”

John nodded, anticipating Molly to turn towards the door. Instead, she went in the opposite direction, towards Sherlock, He still didn’t move, while she stepped right beside him, stood on her toes, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Sherlock’s head perked up at the gesture as Molly pat him on the shoulder and took her leave. The detective finally moving his gaze in her direction as she made her way to the exit and departed. He look almost, stunned.

“That was, unexpected.” Sherlock finally uttered. “After our last, interaction, I didn’t think she’d react that way. Should I be worried?”

“Nah. I think it was just her way of saying, she understands. Or at the very least she’s not mad.”

“Well. That’s a relief.” Sherlock replied in a somewhat distracted way.

“You alright?”

“Fine. Why?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you were out for almost a whole day.” John retorted in that attitude he tended to have when Sherlock was dismissive enough to make him think he was an idiot. Regrouping before asking again out of genuine concern. “You sure you’re feeling well?”

“Just a bit of post case exhaustion. Nothing more. My legs are a little sore though.” Sherlock added, rubbing his left leg for emphasis. 

“Well that’s what you get for curling up on a couch too small for you.”

“It was a decent substitute. I’ll have to look for some alternative lodging while Baker Street is being reconstructed.”

“You know. I have a spare room. You’re welcome to it for as long as you need.” John proposed

For just a second, Sherlock almost looked at a loss for words. Maybe on some level he wasn’t expecting the gesture from his friend. “Are you sure?”

“Consider it, paying it forward. For the arrogant sod who helped me find a good place to live when I needed it.”

A grin flashed across the detective’s face at John’s reasoning. “In that case, I accept.”

“Alright then. First things first, how about we get some real food? When was the last time you ate a proper meal?”

“Uhhh…” the detective dragged out, clearly trying to recall when it was while not being willing to admit he couldn’t.

“That’s what I thought.” John interrupted smugly. “I’ll call for a takeaway.” Sherlock only nodded at the proposition. Not offering to deduce anything from the menus he had stacked in his junk drawer or anything. Which made John raise an eyebrow that his friend didn’t seem to notice.

The rest of the night ran pretty smoothly, but given the fact that Sherlock not only retired early, but John didn’t see him emerge from the guest room until almost noon the following day, he was getting the eerie feeling that they were not done with, whatever the consequences were of those dreaded events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference, I am very tempted to write something short about Sherlock being exhausted after the events of The Great Game. It would only be a one shot, but let me know if that's something you guys would be interested in.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, John’s suspicions turned out to be correct. Sherlock was still acting, off. They had spent the next couple of days cleaning up 221B and seeing what they could salvage. A surprising amount of personal belongings were still intact, or at the very least only a little charred. Gathering it all up and bringing it to John’s to give the repair crew room to work on restoring the flats.

But during it all Sherlock seemed, distracted. He handled the tasks at hand well enough and kept up casual conversation as well as you’d expect Sherlock to, but there are times where John will catch a glimpse at Sherlock not keeping up an appearance, and sees him looking off distantly. At first glance it seemed like that deep concentrating state he finds his friend in as he’s trying to work out a case, but it felt like, something else. Not his typical, meditative, deep dive thought process, but something almost, painful.

Plus he was still sleeping way more then he normally did. He didn’t go into anymore 24 hour comes thank God, but he wasn’t making the usual effort he did to keep from getting bored. A couple of times Sherlock retired to the guest room right after dinner, and John wouldn’t hear from him until much later the following day. Ready to get back to working on Baker Street.

John couldn’t necessarily blame Sherlock for being a bit out of sorts. After everything that happened with Eurus, anyone would need some time to recover from it all. But it was Sherlock’s constant insistence that there we nothing wrong that was getting to the doctor.

“Maybe I’m practicing some of that self care you keep preaching about.” Sherlock snapped after the third time John voiced his concerns in as many days.

Usually, John would have dropped it. Left him alone because sometimes, there’s just no talking to him. But there are times where you can tell that there’s something more going on with your friends then they’re saying. And John has known Sherlock long enough to know the difference between being frustrated or bored or exhausted and, whatever was going on now. He knows something is wrong, and he knows Sherlock knows what it is but isn’t saying. So, he’s gonna do what Doctor Watson, best friend and companion to Sherlock Holmes does best. Keep a close watch, be a good friend, and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.

* * *

Sherlock awoke agitated from another unwelcome rest. This routine becoming typical to an aggravating degree. It was around the crack of dawn, with the slightest hints of daylight peeking in through the window, but most of the room was still shrouded in darkness. Sherlock grunted out his impatience at this practice. It wasn’t getting him anywhere. It wasn’t getting him any closer to the solution.

Sherlock’s had it. He couldn’t go on like this. He had to settle this conflict. Once and for all. He untangled his legs from the sheets, sprung up from the bed, and with rekindled determination, went to get his coat.

* * *

“Sherlock!” John called as he knocked on the guest room door. They were supposed be heading to Baker Street in a few minutes, and even with Sherlock's more fatigued nature lately, he was usually ready before John was. The doctor knocked on his former (and I guess current) roommate's door. “Sherlock are you up? Molly gonna be here any minute!”

John was starting to get impatient and just for the heck of it, tried the door handle. It was unlocked. He took the opportunity and let himself in. It was his house after all. He entered and expected to see his best friend sleeping the day away again, but instead he found, nothing. An empty room with an unmade bed.

“Oh perfect” John groaned. Normally Sherlock disappearing wouldn’t be any cause for concern, but with the absence of a case, John couldn’t help but feel his stomach churn slightly at the uncertainty of where the detective could have run off to. The man knew every crevice of London. He could be anywhere.

John took a minute to collect himself. Knowing Sherlock, whatever his reason for leaving was had to be connected to how he’s been acting lately. He could just call Mycroft and get all of London surveillance on the job, but he didn’t think Sherlock would appreciate that, and frankly he was not in the mood to deal with that man. So he was on his own. If John was going to get to the bottom of this, he had to think like Sherlock.

A look at the bed side table showed he left his phone behind. Probably meaning he didn’t want to be reached, but also that he didn’t need to reach anyone. So wherever he is, there’s a good chance he’s alone? Or maybe he just left it behind.

But then John noticed that his friend’s phone was still there, but his wallet was gone. He could be stretching the assumption, but that might mean that he intended to take a cab wherever he was going and wasn’t just wandering the city. After the aftermath of the whole Culverton Smith incident, John wasn’t too worried about Sherlock wandering off to get high.

Knowing Sherlock it was probably isolated since if he wasn’t out on a case, and he presumably didn’t want to be reached, he went to think. Where he couldn’t be distracted. Even by himself. So where did he go?

Despite what Sherlock claimed, he was sentimental, and dramatic. With everything Sherlock went through on their last case, somewhere personal and, familiar is more likely. That narrows the list down considerably. Still a few options but there was one place that kept sticking out in John’s mind. He had nothing else to go on but good old intuition. That was good enough for him.

Just as the answer came to him he heard the front door open. Molly had arrived to watch Rosie like he had asked her to. With a quick explanation about the slight change in plans, Molly agreed to stay with Rosie despite her own concern for Sherlock, as long as John promised to update her when he found him. With an agreed promise, John ran out the door and hailed a cab. He only hoped he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one I know, but the next and final chapter will be the ultimate breakdown and pay off so look forward to that!


	4. Chapter 4

Looking down on London presented the same view it always did. A great cesspool of bustling strangers from all walks of life, that Sherlock had dedicated his life to studying and observing from afar. As he did now stood atop the rooftop of Bart’s hospital. The great detective’s signature coat flapped behind him as the wind blew past. Sherlock standing stoic against it, staring out into the distance of the chaotic peace of the city he called home, as he sought an answer to this latest problem. Searching for an answer he’s not even sure is out there.

Suddenly he was dragged out of his focus by the sound of footsteps on the stairs below him. As Sherlock listened closely to the consistency and pressure of each step, and deducing who would even bother coming up to the roof when nothing was in need of maintenance, he knew exactly who it was. He was not ready to have this discussion, but he supposed it was the inevitable outcome of disappearing from his friend’s home without a word. He should really be impressed that he found him at all.

As he predicted, John came bursting through the door, the hinges screeching as he scanned the rooftop trying to spot him. Sherlock says nothing, and watches his friend catch his breath and turn around. Noticing him standing on the top of the entryway quicker then Sherlock expected him to. John huffed in irritation. A common occurrence for him. The detective glanced down at him, still not saying anything. They stared in silence for a moment before John spoke up.

“If you jump off this roof again I will kill you!”

Despite himself, Sherlock smiled. “Don’t worry.” he finally spoke “I’m not one to pull the same trick twice. Far less dramatic.” Now John was the one who chuckled slightly despite himself.

The pleasantry quickly dissipated as John remembered why they were up there. “So what exactly are you doing up here?”

Sherlock’s only response was to put his stoic face back on and stare back out into the distance of the bustling city.

“Are you going to come down?” John continued to interrogate, Sherlock chose to stand his ground and not respond.

“Something’s clearly going on with you. You gonna tell me what it is?” John persisted, arms crossed and with firm ground. Sherlock rewarded him with a bit of a side glance, but darted his eyes down to the street below soon after. Maybe if he was especially uncooperative, John would leave and let him work this out for himself. If he even could.

Sherlock really should have known better. He still didn’t move but he could hear the clatter of his friend climbing up onto the air vent. Avoiding the smoke stacks. stepping up right next to where he stood. Sherlock remained still, unresponsive. John was a remarkable man, but he was only so patient. He couldn’t take this resistance much longer.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” John said firmly. Damn.

The doctor sighed, out of frustration or exhaustion Sherlock couldn’t quite tell. “Look maybe it’s none of my business. But you’ve been acting really weird lately, and not your usual, somewhat eccentric weird. Something’s going on that you’re not telling me, and I’m not going to let you stand up here and do your brooding loner thing until you freeze. I want to help.”

“What if you can’t?” Sherlock abruptly asked

“I at least want to try. Will you let me, for once?” John asked. Sherlock sighs and deflates slightly. He’s so tired, maybe admitting it, if nothing else, will be something of a release. What does he have to lose?

“Fine.” the detective finally muttered, gesturing for his friend to sit beside him. They both settled on the end of the entryway, feet dangling over the side, still looking out at the vast city landscape.

“Alright. Now, what’s going on?” John starts as he settles down.

Sherlock took a deep breath “There’s been, something of a shadow that’s shrouded my thoughts lately. My mind tends to rebel at stagnation. Craving to solve any challenging problem that crosses my path to keep it functioning. But now, it’s been nothing but stagnant.” the detective admitted in an irritated tone. Glancing over at his friend for a response, but he just sat there and listened, waiting for Sherlock to continue.

“I have developed, something of a roadblock. Instead of observing and processing curiosities and being malcontent with dull ordinary practices, I find myself repeating this one inquiry over and over again. Seeking an answer that I just, cannot find. That’s why I’ve been sleeping more. Normally I’m so focused on my work that I have no need for such mundane exercises, but I’ve found it exhausting to confront the same problem continuously, with no sign of a solution. A, malfunction of sorts that I realized after the events that transpired with my sister. That no matter how hard I try, I cannot move past.”

“I think you’re being way too hard on yourself here.” John replied. ”No one expects you to bounce back right away. You’ve been through a lot. Learned a lot. You were literally tortured! I commend you for functioning at all after such a traumatic experience.”

“It’s not the experience that’s the problem John!” Sherlock snapped. “It’s what the information represents.”

"What do you mean?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disturbed by the truth that’s come to light recently. I think I’d officially be deemed a sociopath if I wasn’t. But I was betrayed the most not by Eurus, or Mycroft. But my own memory.” Sherlock confessed in an almost defeated tone as he saw the signs of realization show on John’s face.

“My mind John. What I’ve spent my life developing, dedicated my work to honing it’s skills, and tailoring it to be of the greatest benefit to my self made profession. And I can’t trust it anymore. The circumstances don’t matter. My own memories were altered beyond my ability to control. Entire lives and experiences erased like useless data! When it was anything but. Rewriting essential information that almost cost all of us dearly, and I was none the wiser. All of this only makes trying to solve this latest quandary feel impossible. If I can’t rely on my own mind, the one thing I’ve always depended on, that has shaped and defined everything I’ve done in life! What does that make me now?”

Sherlock letting out the conflict he’s been facing since the focus of the case wore off, left him with another wave of exhaustion washing over him. Staring out into the distance as the question with no apparent answer hung in the air. Rotating through his traitorous mind again. Forcing his head into his hands in a useless maneuver to get it to stop.

John was shocked at how open his friend was being with him, but shook it off so he could try and help him come up with a solution. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think there are any more secret siblings and repressed childhood memories to worry about.”

“You don’t know that.” Sherlock retorted, snapping out of his own agonizing fog.

John sighed. “No. I don’t. And neither do you and I get that that’s scary for you.” Sherlock looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at the idea that he was scared, but said nothing. “I can’t say I fully understand what you’re going through or that I know how to fix it.” Sherlock let out an exasperated huff at this admission.

“But” John continued. “I do know what it feels like to think you’ve, lost part of yourself due to forces beyond your control. When I was sent home from Afghanistan I didn’t know what to do. Just sat around feeling sorry for myself, and then getting agitated at feeling sorry for myself. But I realized that I was still me. I just had to find a different way to be who I was, while accepting what had changed. So I did. And I feel like I’m better for it.”

“I fail to see how this applies to me. You didn’t realize you still had your strength. I’m realizing that I’ve lost mine. If I ever even had it.”

“You’re still clever Sherlock. That hasn’t changed. What’s changed is how you look at yourself. How to deal with this thing that no matter what you think, was beyond your control, and doesn’t make you any less then what you were before. You know what you do? Take this experience and, learn from it.”

“What exactly am I supposed to learn from this that would be a benefit?”

John stopped to figure out where to go from here. There had to be some way of looking at this that even Sherlock Holmes had not considered. Something about this case that could help his friend. Then it came to him. “How did you stop Eurus?”

Sherlock sat up straight at the question. “You know what happened.”

“Yes but I wasn’t there. You solved the case even after learning about everything you had forgotten. So just tell me. How?”

Sherlock began to recollect the events at Musgrave, trying to deduce for himself what there was to gain from it. “There, was something I understood that she didn’t. A way to the solution she sought, but even her unfathomable intelligence couldn’t find. But I could.”

“And what’s that?”

“Empathy. She was lonely, and I was there for her. Nothing more.” Sherlock recounted, remembering holding his sisters in his arms, truly wanting to help her despite everything, which in turn saved John. “So you’re saying,” Sherlock began to rationalize “that calculated reason isn’t the only tool at my disposal that benefits my work.”

“I’m saying I don’t think you’re giving all of what makes you, you, enough credit.” Sherlock looked back at his friend perplexed by that statement, Silently asking what he meant by that.

“Do you remember that time when you told me you weren’t a hero?”

“Vaguely.” Sherlock dismissed

“Well trust me, there have been times where I believed that. Even recently.” John was ashamed to admit, Shaking off that horrible memory of Mary’s demise to focus on the moment. “But there have been many more times where I refused to believe that. A hero is someone who uses their abilities to better the world. Put the needs of others before his own. That defines your work as a detective. You might do it because it’s fun and interesting, but it also involves saving lives and inspiring hope.”

Sherlock scoffed, but John continued as if he didn’t hear. “Mycroft even asked me once what you using that big brain of yours to be a detective said about your heart. I didn’t really know then, but I think I do now. Because you do care. You care so much that you choose not to care because it would get in the way of solving the problems that can save lives.

“So maybe if there’s anything to take away from all of this, it’s not that your mind betrayed you or that you're not good enough to be a detective anymore. Maybe it’s, realizing that caring and crime solving, aren’t as separate as you thought. That you won’t have to rely solely on your brain, because you’re using your heart for your work now too.” the doctor proposed. Sherlock slowly turned away from him in the middle of his speech, deeply considering everything his friend was saying.

“You may be right. If I hadn’t reached out to Eurus, who knows what would have happened. She would have destroyed us and even herself. Perhaps that is the answer. Caring is not a hindrance, but an asset. That what I’m experiencing isn’t a roadblock, but a, metamorphosis.” Sherlock deduced “A natural evolution that I’ve been denying for so long.”

“More or less, yeah.” John affirmed far less eloquently then his friend. “Look I know how difficult it can be to, reinvent yourself. But trust me when I say that you don’t have to lose yourself. Finding a new way of, living your life is not a bad thing.”

“It is what it is?” Sherlock remarked with a grin. John couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah. It is. It is also freezing up here! Can we please finish the soul searching now and go?” the doctor whined as he bundled his jacket tighter around him.

“Alright” Sherlock said in a jovial and agitated tone. He hopped down from his perch on the entryway and planted his feet on the roof. Stepping aside for John to follow, stepping down next to him almost immediately. The doctor made his way to the door and opened it.

“John?” Sherlock called, almost drowned out by the screeching of the door hinges. But John looked back at him from over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” he uttered while barely making eye contact, but John knew it was sincere. John just smiled, and nodded his head towards the exit encouraging Sherlock to follow him. Both taking their leave.

* * *

For the first time in almost a week, Sherlock was wide awake. Laying in his borrowed bed, staring at the ceiling but not really focusing on it. He was in the middle of something he hadn’t done in what felt like an eternity. Processing.

Processing the steps they’ll have to take to reconstruct Baker Street. How to handle the discussion with their parents around the truth of Eurus that Mycroft had held off for as long as he could, but his brother had texted him earlier that evening that they would officially have to “face the music” so to speak. But most importantly, he was processing that same question that was the only thing he could focus on for some time, but it’s no longer as, inhibiting as it was earlier.

With John’s guidance, the question of what these recent revelations make him now was answered. A new man. Now the question remains. Where does he go from here? He needed an outlet for this sentimental side of himself that he’s learning to accept and even embrace. It wasn’t so bad really. It even felt, freeing. Still, he needed a way to process it. But how?

Well, perhaps the best place to start, was where this all began. With sudden inspiration, Sherlock sprung from his seat and sprinted as silently as he could to John’s dining area. Where the possessions they were salvaging from Baker Street were being kept. He rummaged through box after box looking for an item he was sure survived the explosion. Grinning as his fingers brushed against the familiar case.

* * *

John was settling back into bed after tending to Rosie. There were some nights where he wondered if chasing after criminals was less exhausting then taking care of an infant. But Rosie seemed to settle down easier with every day, and after today, John was ready to sleep the rest of the night. Suddenly he heard something he hadn’t heard in what felt like ages. Sherlock was playing downstairs. A melody on his violin that sounded melancholy yet, triumphant.

“That’s the Sherlock I know.” John whispered to himself as he listened to his friend play. He figured it wouldn’t bother his daughter so he decided to let him play. Laying back down to drift off to sleep as the music played below. As he had several times over the years.

Sherlock Holmes spent the rest of the night composing and playing a very special song, that he would play for his sister many times in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what it's all been leading up to. I cannot believe there was not a moment of Sherlock coming to terms with everything that changed in his mind with the realizations in this episode. I know the story's about Sherlock embracing his more human, empathetic side which is good, but I wrote this up to sort of come full circle with that idea, while having Sherlock process something that I think should have been a bigger deal for someone who values his mind so much. 
> 
> Hope the wait was worth it and you guys enjoyed! Leave a comment if you did. Thank you all so much for checking this out!

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't quite know how i feel about The Final Problem. There are some things that are great about it, and others that are, not so great. But there was one thing about the plot of this episode, that I'm surprised wasn't explored. This story is basically my way of doing just that. And what is that? Well you're just gonna have to read to find out! Hope you enjoy this first chapter. Stick around for the rest!


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